


Fairytales from Inconvenient Relatives

by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)



Series: Inconvenient Relatives [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast, F/M, Fairy Tales, Little Red Riding Hood - Freeform, Other, Snow White - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 21:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraphim_grace/pseuds/DarkAthena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>These are the original fairy tales from Inconvenient Relatives, I was asked to post them separately because not every one wants to read all of IR and they were "apparently too good to overlook"</p><p>These fairytales are oblique rewritings of the Teen Wolf story, each fairytale representing a relationship within the story but it does not say who</p><p>The Fairy tales are :<br/>The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood<br/>Beauty and the Beast<br/>The Tale of Snow White</p><p>These stories are not what you're used to, well sort of. Be warned of that and stand in IR as metafiction, they are fictional stories within the story written by Stiles, hence none of them are about him</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood

The Tale of Little Red Riding Hood  
A Fiction by S Stilinski

Once there was a kind woman who loved her daughter very much. They lived in a small village at the edge of a huge forest and every day the girl and her brothers were told to not to go too deep into the forest because it was full of wolves and wolves who walked on two legs. And the girl grew up with the words in her ear, and every day she went into the edges of the woods to gather herbs and mushrooms for her family, and her mother, loving her best of all, bought her a long thick cape and dyed it with the crushed remains of beetles until it was a deep dark red, and all over the village she was known for her beauty and her wit and her dark red cloak.

The girl had no fear of the woods for she was well loved, her brothers and her parents loved her well with little gifts and trinkets to hang in her black hair, and to paint her red lips, and new shoes that shone in the afternoon light, and every day she would take her little basket and go into the woods to forage.

One day her mother called her over and into her basket she put a small loaf of bread, some honey, some cream and a pat of freshly churned butter. She wrapped her dark red cloak about her shoulders and put a matching hood upon her black hair, pinned back as it was with the ribbons her brother gave her, and kissed her on the forehead, the cheeks and finally the mouth. "You must go into the woods to the house of your grandmother," her mother said, "and bring her these things for she lives outside the village and these things are not easy to bring her." And the girl smiled and kissed her mother and said that she would. "But beware the wolves whose eyes are gold, and the bzou, who are the wolves who walk on two legs, stay only on the path of pins and go straight to her house, for there are those in the forest who will gobble you up give n the chance."

The girl knew her grandmother lived outside the village in the forest because she was a midwife and healer, and they never lived amongst the people, for there were witch hunters in those time and they could smell lies, so it was no lie to say there was no witch in their village. And the girl, with the sunshine on her new shoes, and ribbons in her hair, and her red cloak pushed back to show her white blouse and black skirt, went into the forest. With the basket hanging from her arm she went to the path of pins and followed it into the woods that she had no fear of.

The girl had a song in her heart and on her lips for even in the deep forest the day was beautiful and the girl was loved and so knew no ill.

At the place where the path forked, although both paths led to her grandmother's house, the girl saw a man in a grey coat who smiled at her. She did not know him for a bzou and so she smiled back for the man was handsome and she was well loved and knew no fear.

"Tell me," he said and his voice was like the forest itself and she smiled for him, "where it is you go with a basket on your arm and a song on your lips and in your heart?"

And she told him for she had nothing to fear in the deep dark woods. "I am going to see my grandmother who lives in these woods, I am bringing her bread, honey, cream and a small pat of butter for she lives outside the village and cannot easily come by these things."

The bzou smiled his most charming smile, "I also am going to meet your grandmother, for she and I are old friends." When he smiled he showed his teeth which were very sharp, "there are two paths," he said, "the path of needles and the path of pins, which will you take?"

The girl told him that she would take the path of needles for although her mother had told her to take the path of pins she knew that the path of needles was shorter.

The bzou grinned his toothy grin and said that he would take the path of pins and that they would see who reached there first.

 

The bzou raced ahead and reached the grandmother's house with time to spare, but when he opened the door, intending to eat the old woman inside perhaps, he found that the fire was dead in the grate and the window unlatched so that the leaves had come in, and the old woman had died in her bed.

Knowing that he would be blamed regardless the bzou found a broom and swept the leaves from the little house, he shut the latch on the window and pulled the blanket over the old woman's face, for she had been kind to him, but he did not build the fire in the grate for he did not know how, as for all of his appearing he was a wolf who was sometimes a man, and not a man who was sometimes a wolf. When the girl came still singing her soft and lovely song, he was sat outside on an upturned bucket. "I have grave news," he said, "it seems that your grandmother has died in the night, when I came to her house the window was unlatched and the fire was cold in the grate, I have swept away the leaves and I have covered her, but I did not build another fire for I did not know what to do."

And the girl threw back her hood which was the deep dark red of crushed beetles and showed the soft blue ribbons braided in her hair and she took a deep breath. "I shall build up the fire," she said, "for it is late, and you may sleep there on the floor by the hearth where it is warm, and we shall eat her fresh bread, honey, cream and the small pat of butter I have brought in my basket, if you will bury her as a good christian woman should be buried, and in the morning I shall return to the village to tell them, and then return here and live in her small house." And the bzou agreed to what she offered.

And that night, with a belly full of bread and honey and butter, with sweet cream to drink, the bzou lay down on an old blanket on the floor by the hearth where it was warm, with the old woman buried in a copse of trees just to the south of the house for the old woman had never been anything other than kind to him and he had thought of her fondly. And in the old woman's bed, with fresh linens sweetly scented with lavender the girl slept with her cape the dark red of crushed beetles hanging by the door.

The next morning, as the sun was cresting the hills to the east of the forest, as the woods turned the light a soft pale grey, the girl woke and climbed out of bed, and looked at the bzou curled up on the floor by the hearth. She washed and dressed quickly, but did not braid the blue ribbons from her brothers into her hair. She pulled on her blouse but not her vest embroidered with yellow daffodils and blue asters, and tied on her new shoes, which were now covered with mud. Finally careful not to wake the bzou, who looked like he needed the sleep to her young well loved eyes, she built up the fire again and took the path of needles back to the small town where she told them how the old witch had died, and she would be taking her house for she had been taught the ways to ease a birth or to set a leg, and that she was happy. And the townsfolk believed her, and giving her trinkets, such as was their way to welcome witches into their midst, she left with her basket on her arm, and a chicken in a basket from the other arm to make her supper.

The bzou waited for her in the little house in the woods and she knew she had nothing to fear from the woods or the wolves who walked on four legs or who walked on two for she had magic to save herself and a dark red cape the colour of crushed beetles to keep her warm.

As time passed she taught the bzou how to draw water from the well, and to sweep her yard, and she would sit in the single chair by the fire and sew his clothes and he would bring her braces of rabbits from the forest for her pot, and all was well. Then one night as she sat brushing out her hair, "what large eyes you have," he told her.

"All the better to see you with." She answered calmly, dragging the comb through the black curls.

"And what strong hands you have." He said.

"All the better to deliver babies and set bones." She told him.

"And what white skin you have." He complimented her.

"All the better to show a blush." She answered calmly, and tied the ribbon into the braid she used at night. "Come," she said, "there is meat in the pantry which I have softened with honey and herbs, will you eat it?"

And the bzou went to the pantry where the plate of meat was, softly cooked and warm in the evening half light and when he lifted it into his hands a bird appeared at the window. "Do not eat that," said the bird, "for she seeks to tame you and make you her husband and no more will you be able to run in the wild woods with the earth under your feet."

And the bzou told the girl what the bird had said and she told him, "it is a silly, spiteful creature, jealous that I am so kind as to feed you soft meats and let you sleep on the floor near my hearth, throw your boot at it and it will leave." So the bzou tugged off his boot and threw it at the bird which flew away, then he ate the meat.

"There is wine in the kitchen," she said, "that I have warmed with spices and bubbles in the pot, will you have some to drink?"

And the bzou went to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of the hot wine but there was a cat there at the window. "Do not drink that," said the cat, "for she is a witch who seeks to tame you and make you her husband and no more will you be able to run in the wild woods and sing your song to the moon."

The bzou told the girl what the cat had said and the girl laughed and said, "it is a silly spiteful creature, like the bird, jealous that I make you hot wines and let you sleep on the floor near my hearth, throw your boot at it and it will leave." So the bzou tugged off his last remaining boot and threw it at the cat who ran away. Then he drank the hot spiced wine.

When he went back into the main room the girl was in her bed, with her hair braided and her face clean of the day. "Are you tired?" she asked him "because your day was long, if you are tired you may climb into bed with me."

The bzou protested that his grey coat was dirty and he did not want to soil the bed.

"Then take it off," said the girl, "and throw it away into the fire because you will not need it any more. I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"And where shall I put my vest, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw it on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"And where shall I put my trousers, lady?"

"Throw them on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"and where shall I put my stockings, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw them on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

"and where shall I put my blouse, lady?" the bzou asked the girl.

"Throw it on the fire, love, for you won't need it any more I shall make you another." And the bzou did.

Then naked he climbed into the bed beside her. "Love," she said, "how hairy you are?"

And he knew the answer. "All the better to keep you warm."

"And, love, what big arms you have."

"All the better to keep you close."

"And, love, what big ears you have."

"All the better to hear you whisper."

"And, love, what golden eyes you have."

"All the better to see your beauty."

And the girl brightened under the flattery. "And, love, what a big mouth you have."

"All the better to love you with."

And no longer did the bzou sleep on a blanket on the floor near the hearth for she had made him her husband. He shared her bed and her life and thought no more of running wild beneath the winter skies with the soft earth under his paws or sing his songs to the full moon, he thought of her and the curve of her cheek and the warmth of her smile or her clever fingers sewing him clothes and they were happy.

Though time passed until the girl was no longer a girl, was a woman and then a crone until one day she lay in her bed as still and quiet and dead as her grandmother before her, and the bzou put on the clothes that she had made him, the soft wool pants and the loose blouse and the grey coat trimmed in rabbit fur, then he pulled on her cape of the deep red of crushed beetles. He tugged on his boots, fetched from the forest, and he took the path of needles into the town to tell them that their witch had died.

But the townsfolk were not like the girl and they knew him for what he was, but he was tamed and no longer fit to run under the winter sky and they caught him, and they hung him, and brought his pelt to the witch hunters to show that they knew what it was that they were to do, and they were rewarded.

For it is only in the tales that men tell that the wolf is to be feared. In the tales wolves tell they warn of the dangers of a girl with soft eyes and strong hands, and why you should not spend a night asleep on the floor by the hearth of a witch's house, for no good comes to little girls who stray off the path, or wolves who forget how to sing their songs to the moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and the Beast  
A fiction by S Stilinski

Beauty was a goldsmith's daughter. She had soft red hair and pale skin and those who came to visit her father often commented that she was the loveliest thing in the shop and her father would laugh and say that yes, she was, she was his treasure. She had another name but everyone called her Beauty and she was happiest surrounded by people who loved her and books were her treasure. She had almost a dozen of them.

At night whilst her father sat by the fire setting his gems by the light of ten or more lamps, she would sit on the floor by his feet and read for her father loved her completely and denied her nothing.

Over time word spread of her Beauty, and minor lords travelled all over to buy trinkets for their mistresses from her father and to catch a glimpse of her, and with every telling her beauty grew but yet none managed to catch the girl's eye, even when the trinkets and shiny gewgaws that they bought from her father were offered to her. She refused them with soft laughter.

Now the mother of the queen of the land had been a great beauty, the sort of which stories are told about, and she heard about the goldsmith's daughter whose loveliness was so great that none knew her name and simply called her Beauty. She invited the girl to court, perhaps to showcase the loveliness of those other girls who served as her ladies, but found instead that the girl's peasant loveliness was remarkable but that her eyes were rarely out of a book, and if they were then the book was stuffed into the pochet of her gown. And the dowager loved her like a daughter and accepted her into her own house that she might make a better marriage but also to give her the freedom to choose who she would.

And word of her beauty spread even further and more men came to make love to her, and she refused them all. In fact the more she refused them the more adamant they became in wooing her, bringing her fine fabrics and lovely jewels for which she had no use, for her hair was the colour of old gold and her skin like winter cream.

But at night she dreamt of fire.

Then one day, as she found herself a quiet corner in which to spend time with her true loves, with a leather bound book in her hands, a prince crossed her path. She did not know him as such, for he looked like he might instead be a traveller or a merchant lost in the warrens of the Dowager's palace, and when he spoke to her it was not with words of love, but instead he explained that he was lost and would it be possible for her to guide him back to the main walkways. She agreed that she would and as they walked he further broke from tradition and asked her what it was that she was reading, so she told him, with the arrogance of someone who read well and expected nothing of the same from those who spoke to her.

The prince surprised her because for all his rough edges he was well read and he recommended another book to her and told her, as she opened the door to the main hall, that it was not often that he found a person that he could converse with so freely about such topics. Beauty smiled to herself and her beauty dazzled but he made no comment of it, unlike those others who came, instead he patted about his coat and offered her another volume.

Beauty considered that to be everything with the man, and kept the book well in case that he returned and wished for it back, but when he did return he had finer clothes and a smile for her, and offered her a rose, to press in the pages of the book, which was in fact a book of botany. And every time he came to call upon the king he brought her another flower to press amongst it's pages. He spoke to her of books and libraries and told her of places with names she could not pronounce and she, who had always found the love making of men to be cold and beneath her notice, found herself opening to him like a flower in his book.

When he returned and told her that although he was a price that his kingdom was over run by the Turks and he could not keep her in the luxury to which she was used she laughed in his face and told him that she was only a merchant's daughter whom the dowager kept at court so that the men did not travel so far and further delay the politics of the land. She told him that she had no heart for those men, those shining courtiers who brought her gifts and truly with the amount of fripperies and shining gewgaws that they had brought her that she could possibly fund the revolution to free his kingdom and he laughed with her and proposed that they marry there and then.

With her heart full of love and her beauty transcendent - she agreed, and within the week she was the princess of a lost kingdom, and had access to a library in the only castle remaining to her handsome prince, whom she loved completely.

There were a heady few weeks spent in each other's presence, days of love and luxury, and he never lied to her, or kept part of himself secret, he showed her the pamphlets that they printed of his exploits at the front, and how some of them were lies, but some of them were truth, for a lie had more power when it was couched in honesty. She smiled then and kissed his fingers and said there were truths in war that could make even the hardest heart quail and he loved her then, with all of his being for she was beautiful and she was wise and she was his. It did not matter that the enemy called him a beast because he was her's and she was his.

They did not know how when they slept he would splay his hand against her ribcage with his thumb between her breasts reassuring himself with the beat of her heart, or how he would find flowers for her to press between the pages of the book that he had given her, and if in the middle of the night she had dreams of his horrors she spoke of them to no one.

But at night, in his arms when she slept, she dreamt of fire.

When he left to return to his army he gave the palace and the run of it, he gave her his court that she could speak in his absence but warned that they expected nothing of her for she was beautiful and she would have to be hard to make them listen, and she nodded and kissed his eyelids and told him that she could be anything he wanted her to be because she was beautiful and she was clever and she was his.

She bore him a son which he named for his traitorous brother for although he loved completely others could not be trusted and she saw nothing but love in his eyes when he looked at the child and she loved him completely but she was as fierce as he, and her beauty grew, and when she ruled his court she ruled it with an iron fist for one could not be ruthless at the front and soft handed at home, and the war went on.

When her belly quickened and swelled with a second child she sent him such words of love and he sent her a midwife who loved to read as much as she and confided in her and when her sickness came she drank the tea that was made, but it was only later that she recognised how the dried herbs masked with the taste of ginger were feverfew and tansy and pennyroyal and the child was born dead. Perhaps something died in her that day, with the babe, for she took the midwife into the square and punished her in the way that the pamphlets said that her husband did on the front, and made it clear that she would tolerate no traitors, that those who defied her would meet a similar purpose, even if it broke her heart to do so, for she was beautiful and she was clever and she was his.

But at night, sobbing into her pillows and furs, she dreamt of fire.

When the pamphlets came telling of the atrocities she committed in her husband's name, although she wept inside, she laughed and told them she would print horrors of her own, and she did, terrible things that saw peasants dip into doorways out of her way. For she was ruthless and beautiful and his. For they did not how softly he lay his head upon of her shoulder, or how deft his thumbs upon her feet, or how he always brought her flowers for the book he had given her that day in the palace. And she was his queen and she was beautiful and fierce and ruthless and his.

Her third child was a second son, but did not fill the ache in her heart left by her daughter and when he suggested they move to a second palace, harder to assail and as rough in it's edges as she felt she agreed and brought with her tales of his atrocity and her cruelty, but it did not matter when his smile was so soft and her sons were so bright.

Yet at night, alone in their marriage bed, she dreamt of fire.

She stood at the window of her tower room and watched the river flow beneath and she was happy, she was, for she was loved and she was beautiful and clever and his.

And if at night, with servants sleeping at her door to block the draft she would run her fingers over the pages of the book that lingered between them it was because she was lonely and missed him, not that she doubted his faith in her, and like her faith, her beauty never wavered.

And when he came she blazed for she loved him completely because he was clever and brilliant and ruthless and her's.

Yet at night, alone in their marriage bed, she dreamt of fire.

She dreamt of him burning, his handsome face twisted and blackened like a piece of overcooked pork, the crackling in wide white crevasses and woke sobbing. She dreamt of him drowning, held under ice and his eyes open and dead. She dreamt of him dead in a hundred ways and she dreamt of him as a boy quiet and shy without the hardness the war had given him with eyes like asters and she woke sobbing. For she was beautiful and brave and his.

So when the armies came her heart was set, she did not see how the fortress was too fierce to be easily taken, she merely heard the words of the soldiers that her husband must be dead if he did not come to save her. She heard the soldiers beneath her window laugh and tell of what they did to witches. And at night, with her sons tucked up in her bed, she dreamt of fire.

When morning came she brushed out her hair which still was the colour of old gold, and rubbed silk on her skin until it was as fresh as winter cream. She bathed in oils and wore her finest gown, and with the surety of love and knowing he was dead she took the book he had given her, with the pressed flowers, and went to her window, before she fell to the river below. For she was beautiful, and she was brave and she was his.

She fell rather than letting them take her, to use her against him, and she fell with the dreams of fire thick about her, for she was beautiful and she was brave and she would always be his.

And when word of her sacrifice reached him, he bathed the world in blood and became the beast that they called him.


	3. Snow White - A Tale from the Northlands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow White

Snow White - a tale of the northlands  
a fiction by S Stilinski

In the kingdoms of the north, where the wind whips the trees and the wolves come at night, there was once a king who married a sorceress. He did not know that was what she was but he was lucky in that the sorceress was gentle and good, and did not seek to destroy his kingdom as many of them did. She was beautiful and kind, but she had a sister who was not. Her sister was jealous of her power, and of the man who doted on her and the kingdom which adored her, and so she cast a curse that her sister would never bear him a child so that the king would be forced to put her aside.

Years passed and the only sorrow the sorceress knew was that she had no child, and every month when the moon waned her heart broke again for there was no child. So the sorceress wept and her sister gloated, and the king fought with his advisors who told him to put aside his wife, if only in law.

So one night, when the moon was black, with a heart heavy with ache the sorceress went into the gardens her husband had created for her, and with her own fingernails, though the earth was hard as stone, she dug a small hole, using her blood to soften the earth until it was as easily molded as clay, into which she pressed two feathers she had taken from the rookery. She formed a small doll of the clay, and wrapped it in snow. She tore a strip from the black gown she wore and swaddled it, and from the ruins of her fingers she dripped four perfect drops of blood unto what would have been a mouth had it been a child.

She knew that this was the darkest of magics but her heart ached as she begged the moon, mother of blood and magic, that it give her a child with skin as white as snow, hair as black as the raven feathers she had pressed into the clay, and lips as red as blood. Then she burned the poppet under the absence of the moon.

The next month when the moon waned there was celebration for the queen was with child.

The pregnancy was difficult, and when the child was born the kingdom rejoiced for she had had a son, with hair as black as a raven's wing and skin as white as snow, and the small mouth seemed stained with blood. 

Yet there must be a price for such powerful magic and the queen knew that, and so in the weeks that followed the birth when she sickened she took it as her due, and although it broke her heart that she must leave her son and husband behind she went quietly into death.

The king, heartbroken at the loss of his beloved wife, married her sister that his son might have a mother, and all were happy.

When the boy reached seven years of age he was well known through out the kingdom for his smile and his sweet nature and so no one worried when the queen sent for an advisor from the south, one who was versed in combatting dark magic, for the boy was sweet and kind and had a smile like the sun rising over the forests, and if he ran too fast or laughed too loud it was simply the joy of youth, but the new queen saw something in him that was different. Perhaps it was how he liked his meat bloodier than was usual for a child, or that he had no taste for sweets or candies. Perhaps it was how he liked to run barefoot through the snow like the cold did not touch him, or how he would take his blankets from his bed and curl up on the floor where the moon fell through the window.

The sorcerer from the south examined the boy and locked himself away for a day and a night before he told the new queen what he had learned. The new queen sighed, for she had loved her sister, and if not for her curse perhaps the child would have been normal, but it was clear that he was not. For a day and a night she questioned what to do, for the boy was sweet and she loved him as if he were her own, but the sorcerer had only reinforced what she had already suspected, the boy had been born of blood magic and it was only a matter of time before the sweetness of the blood used to make him was replaced by the ice of the snow at his core.

So although her heart broke to do it she found out what she needed to do to rid the kingdom of the menace that the boy would inevitably become.

She sent for the master of the hunt, a man loyal to her, and told him that her magic had revealed that the prince was infested by a demon and that her magic was not strong enough to undo it. She told him that the prince's birth was the reason for his mother's death and that he needed to do something for his kingdom, and as she told him this she rubbed the swell of her own belly, full of child, and perhaps the huntsman understood, or perhaps he thought it was simply one queen removing the child of another to promote the claim of her own child, but the huntsman agreed and the next morning, before dawn, he took the boy hunting.

The snow was thick upon the ground and the rabbits asleep for the winter, but the deer were quick and the huntsman quickly brought one down, he cut a flank off it and roasted it over a small fire, and smeared the blood across the boy's face as a trophy. "Run," he told the boy, "run as far and as fast as you can." He pressed into the boy's hands the meat and a small purse of coins, "for your stepmother the queen has told me to bring you into the woods to kill you and bring her your heart and if I do not she will kill my family. So I will bring her the heart of this deer that she might let you live, but you must run, run as far and as fast as you can."

The boy smiled, and laughed, for he thought it was a simple game. He ran and he ran, laughing as he went, until the sky darkened and he realised that the huntsman was not chasing him. Then he stumbled on, with the money in his belt and the meat in his hand. He walked then until he came to a wayward pine, three trees bound together by the wind, a small shelter underneath that was dry and free of snow, and he crawled into it to sleep and cry.

When he woke up the next morning a wolf had curled around him, and was lying with the shank of meat between it's paws and was happily chewing. The boy let out of a peal of delighted laughter with no more fear in him than if the wolf had not been anything more than one of his step mother's pet dogs. And the wolf was an adolescent too, and it cocked its head, the bone wedged between it's paws, before reaching out to lick the boy's face to be rewarded with another peal of delighted laughter. After that the boy and the wolf cub were inseparable and shared their kills, for the boy was quick and could climb trees to find squirrels asleep in their winter nests, breaking their necks with quick fingers and skinning them like the huntsman had taught him before he brought him to the Forest. And the wolf was quick and could catch rabbits, and the boy did not need to eat much, and together they shared the furs, held together with clumsy stitches and found an old cottage in the woods that served their needs.

And so the boy grew up and into manhood and he was lovely to look upon, even wild, for he had hair the colour of a raven's feather, skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood.

\---

The queen had three children, all daughters, and was walking through the market with her ladies looking for ribbons for their hair when she heard the most disquieting rumour, that in the woods to the north there lived a bandit who ran with a wolf. She heard her ladies speak of the bandit with the most disturbing words that he was beautiful, like someone carved from marble, with skin as white as snow, hair as black as a raven's wing and lips as red as blood. It was said that he was strong from years of living alone in the woods with nothing but forest creatures to accompany him and that he was wild, and that such wildness made him more appealing for he was not the kind of man that they wished to keep, but only to warm their beds.

So the queen went to her mirror, which had been a gift for her marriage from her mother and had a surface as black and sheer as a peat bog and was said to be a mirror of Nehelenia and would only speak the truth. She lit candles in front of it made from the tallow of black cats and blocked out the light from the window. "Mirror, mirror, upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all?" She asked it.

"My queen is fair, for that is true,  
but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"my huntsman killed the boy and his heart I ate, how now can I spare my kingdom this dark fate?"

"A heart you devoured that is true, but he'll bring your crown down around you."

And with a heavy hand she swept the candles to the side, dragging down a cup of wine with them that splashed across the surface of the mirror and she wept. 

She went into the darkest part of the castle and used forbidden sorceries to create for the boy, now a man, a set of laces and summoned him to her court. The laces weighed like a noose in her pocket but the boy did not come.

So she pulled a cloak about her and took a horse in the night. She found the small cottage where the boy lived and with her hood pulled over her face she stumbled into the clearing and the wolf growled at her. So she went to the nearest town where the boy, clearly him with his dark hair and luscious red mouth, and pulled down her hood, and smiled at him. And the boy was young, perhaps no more than fifteen, and easily seduced by a woman he did not remember whose hair was the colour of barley wine and whose breasts were full from childrearing and whose thighs were sleek and it was easily done. She left him the laces for his cloak and returned to the castle, scrubbing herself down with salts and sand.

The boy, young and still quick to laughter, threaded the laces to his cloak of bear skin and pulled it about his neck as he descended the steps to the tavern where she had bedded him, and immediately found it hard to breathe, tearing the cloak away and throwing it upon the fire.

That night when the queen went to her chamber she lit the fire of cat tallow and poured a cup of wine before she stood in front of the mirror, naked as a babe, and asked it, "mirror mirror upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all?" For the mirrors of Nehelenia were as vain as their creator and responded in kind.

"My queen is fair for that is true, but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"How can that be, laces of hemlock and wolfsbane   
around his throat I wove until no breath came."

"A lace you wove that is true," the mirror said, "but he will bring your crown down around you." And if it could have, if the magic within it had made it possible, then it would have laughed.

So the queen went back to her laboratory and she fastened a pin of purest silver, anointed with the darkest poisons and went back to the small town were the boy brought his kills, and when he saw her he smiled at her and it was easy to bring him to her bed, to part her thighs for him because he was beautiful with a young man's growth and vigour and his skin was the colour of snow.

When she left she pressed the pin into his hand and smiled for him, although her heart felt like lead, then she pulled her hood up over her hair and returned to the palace.

The boy looked at the pin, for which he had no use, and sold it to a passing merchant, trading it for a sharp knife, which he thrust in his belt and continued back to the cottage he shared with his wolf.

And the queen went to her mirror, she lit the candle of black cat tallow, and poured the cup of wine "Mirror, mirror, upon the wall, tell me who is the fairest of them all."

"My queen is fair, that is true, but your sister's son is fairer than you."

"But how can that be, a silver pin I gave him  
to steal the life from snow white limbs."

"A pin you gave that is true, but he will bring your crown down around you." And if it could have, if the magic within it made it possible, then the mirror would have laughed.

The queen raged for a day and a night, she bathed with salt and sand until her skin was new, and then she went to the palace kitchens where she found two winter apples, and bathed them both in poison. She went to the town where the boy traded his pelts and meat and found him, and shared with him a kiss, before she slipped into his pockets the apples. The boy smiled at her for he knew no guile and bit the apple there and then in front of her and fell down dead.

The queen returned to her castle finally free of the curse she had placed upon her sister and laughed to the heavens.

But the boy awoke that night in the alley where he had fallen, coughed up the chunk of apple which had choked him, and asked then about the woman with the barley hair, and went to the palace that he might see her, for he was young and without guile, and when the king saw him he was overjoyed for he had long thought his son dead, but the boy was unused to language and the ways of men. He said that he searched for a woman who had given him laces with which to tie his cloak, and a pin with which to close his jacket, and an apple in the deepest winter, and that she had hair the colour of barley. So the king sent for his wife that she might answer the boy's query, for the king would deny his returned son nothing.

When the boy looked upon the queen he knew her and said so, he said that she was the woman who had come to him with the laces for his cloak, and the pin for his jacket and sweet summer apples in the dead of winter, and how she had lain with him, for the boy had lived his life with wolves and did not know the machinations of men.

And thus the queen was hanged and the boy, more wolf than man with skin as white as snow and lips as red as blood, became king.


End file.
